Ah, blogging from home. I can feel safe typing naughty words.


I've had a tiring weekend (surprising, since I've done next to nothing), and I just want to sleep. I've been sick for the past ten days, but more and more I think it's an allergic reaction to a certain cat I live with. My mom is convinced it's allergies - "You sound less congested here than you do on the phone," she says - but I'm not so certain of that yet. Viruses can affect our bodies in remarkably strange ways. In any event, if it's allergies I can get a prescription for some drug. Mom says I shouldn't have to pay for some drug to live allergy free, that I should insist on getting rid of the cat, but that would be like John insisting I get rid of Lili. Maybe a little different, but similar enough for me to think that's a completely unreasonable option.

I've been thinking about getting older, and the effect my co-workers have on me. I try not to write a lot about work on this blog, but more and more I'm realizing that they demoralize me, and it's because they seem so depressed when contrasted with my relative youth.

For example, I get a certain amount of talk like I don't know anything, because I'm only twenty-four. That the opinions I have are invalid, because I couldn't possibly have any experience in these "adult" matters. But I also get the flip side of the coin, people saying that the only reason I can do certain things that I do (like running) is because I'm young.
"Enjoy it while you can," they say.

But the worst is never spoken. I'd approximate that I never deal directly with anyone over 45, and so many have this look like they stepped out into this world, fresh from college and ready to kick some ass. They had ideas and goals and energy, and maybe they were ready to take some defeat, but the road of success, in their eyes, was warm asphalt. All they had to do was drive. But so many have a quiet look of defeat and resignation. They look as though they're putting their sweat and toil into someone else's vision, someone else's dream, and they've let it happen because the benefits are good.

I see this and I'm demoralized, because this is the only future I can have if I stay on this road. There is no office with exhilirating responsibility waiting for me to seize it. Remaining here will rot me and sap me of my vitality.

I don't resent any of this. In fact, I think my job is pretty darn good for a cocky liberal arts grad like me. Management has tolerated more of my antics than many employers would dare. For this, I will always be grateful. And I'll always value the skills and experiences I'm gaining. But it would be suicide if, when another ship bound for sunny seas came along, I didn't jump and climb aboard.


Interesting. Net nanny is blocking me from looking at a web statistics page.

I'm not sure why. Maybe it has something to do with all that explicit, hardcore statistical action. I know I personally cannot resist the temptation of page counts.


The world gets stranger. It is not long before free webmail and informational services get blocked too.


2002 was alternately a complete piece of shit year and possibly one of my better years. It bears a very strong resemblance to 1996. Both held for me personal disasters. Both also gave me powerful, rejuvenating experiences that helped shape me.

Here's hoping 2003 does not mimic 1997. For those not around then, '97 was the year I mentally deteriorated, loathed my jobs (yes, plural) with unnatural vigor, and was generally addled with struggle, depression, and drugs.

To work against this end, I've made resolutions!

  1. Run a total of 365 miles, one for each day.
  2. Write a total of 365 pages, one for each day.
  3. Be a generally good person.